Shattered Reality -- Teen Wolf

[EmilyH]

Shattered Reality

Disclaimers: None of the recognizable characters from Teen Wolf are mine. Richard Stilinsky is kind of mine, since I don’t recall them giving Stiles’ dad a name or personality in the movie and it’s been way too long since I’ve seen the cartoon.

* * * * *

Rupert Stilinsky, otherwise known as Stiles to his friends, grimaced as his dad took another swig of whiskey. His old man drank way too much, but there was nothing he could do about it. As soon as his dad sobered up, he’d drive over to the liquor store.

Stiles had a summer job as a salesman at the used car lot, but he didn’t earn much more than the minimum wage. It paid for food and a few bills. That was it. His mom, who had left years ago after his father abused her, sent them money. But it was never really enough.

Richard Stilinsky looked at his son with unfocused brown eyes. “Wha’ the hell’re you doin’ here, boy? You should be in school,” he slurred.

“Dad, it’s the middle of June. Besides, I won’t be here long. You know I have a summer job over at Stan’s Used Cars in the afternoons.” Scott was picking him up since he’d totaled the Wolfmobile, the van he’d had custom-painted after his best friend revealed that he was a werewolf.

Scott gained newfound popularity when everyone found out -- mostly thanks to Stiles’ efforts. He’d known Scott since they’d gone to kindergarten together, and genuinely wanted to help him. But did anyone appreciate his hard work? No. He sighed. The van had been a work of art. Too bad it was now sitting in a junkyard.

“Scott’s giving me a lift,” he added.

“That crazy kid? What’re you doin’ hanging around with him? The kid’s a freak, you know. So’s his old man. I…went to high school with ‘im, y’know.”

Stiles knew that. His dad had once been friends with Harold Howard. They’d been inseparable, pretty much like Scott and him. Something drastic must have happened to change that. Whatever it was, his dad had never said. He figured that Mr. Howard might’ve confided in his dad when he’d learned that he was a werewolf and that his old man hadn’t taken it very well. His father must’ve been sworn to secrecy, because until a few weeks ago, he had never heard of real werewolves. Sure, there were always urban legends, but until recently there was never any proof.

“They aren’t freaks,” Stiles replied, trying to stay calm. “They’re people, Dad. I’m sorry you haven’t figured that out yet.”

Getting mad at his old man when he was drunk wouldn’t do any good. He’d learned that the hard way. When he was only nine, he’d made the mistake of yelling at his father who had spilled beer all over a homework assignment that he’d just finished. As a result, his father had taken off his belt and beaten him. His mother had called the Howards and Stiles spent the night at Scott’s house. That was before Scott’s mother had died. She’d baked cookies and they’d had red Kool-Aid and watched cartoon videos until it was time to go to bed.

Stiles hated his childhood and his father for what he’d done to their family, but at the same time, he missed the normalcy of it all. Things had gotten pretty crazy lately. At least reporters were no longer camping in town. Scott’s transformation caused a media frenzy. The world was stunned to learn that werewolves were real.

As a result, a few other werewolves were coming out of the closet and doing interviews on late night TV shows to make sure the world knew that they were real people and not B-movie monsters. They had families, careers, and lives just like everyone else. They just got furry once in a while.

Richard laughed, spewing whiskey all over the place. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his blue and black plaid flannel shirt. “Of course, they’re freaks, son. You’ve seem ‘em all hairy and ****. Hey, I hear Harvard wants to give your pal a scholarship just so they can study him.”

“Yeah, right, dad.” The doorbell rang. Glancing out the window, he could see Scott. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you later.”

As Stiles opened the door, Scott’s nostrils flared at the strong scent of alcohol. He’d known his friend to drink on occasion (technically underage), but there wasn’t any whiskey on his breath. It smelled like someone had opened a bottle of whiskey and poured it all out. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Okay,” Scott slowly replied. He started walking towards the van from his dad’s hardware store. It was white with “Howard’s Hardware” painted in large red letters.

Stiles caught up with him. “Sorry. Anything new?”

“Not much. Boof and I went to a movie last night.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Back to the Future.”

They climbed into the van. Scott started it and began to back out. Just as he was about to back into the street, Stiles’ dad opened the front door. He was obviously ****ed off and he carried an empty whiskey bottle.

“Hold it right there, you freak,” Richard bellowed.

“****,” Stiles muttered. “Just ignore him and keep going.”

Scott was about to floor it, but his friend’s dad kept approaching.

“This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

Suddenly realizing what was about to happen, Stiles shouted, “No, Dad!”

“You worthless son of mine. I told you that boy was a freak, but would you listen?” Gripping the bottle, Richard pulled back his arm, about to throw it. “I don’t ever want to see you again! Either of you!”

Both teenagers ducked as the man hurled the bottle. It smashed into the windshield and glass flew everywhere. Stiles watched in horror as reality shattered around him. His ears began to ring, much to his annoyance. Then he felt a sharp pain in his forehead and the ringing in his ears got louder.

Suddenly one of the windows in his house broke. His dad whirled around, thinking it was one of the kids across the street, who happened to be playing baseball. But the pitcher still clutched the ball in his hand. However, Richard was too drunk to notice.

“Damn kids! I told you not to throw baseballs around here. Go home!”

The kids looked at each other. They dropped their stuff and ran inside, not wanting to make the drunken man any angrier.

“Ow,” Scott yelped as one of the shards dug into his arm. He glanced up and saw in the rear view mirror that his eyes had turned red. That was not a good sign. He backed out quickly and shifted gears, then pulled over at a stop sign that was about a block away. “Stiles, are you okay? Stiles?”

Sitting up, the dark-haired teenager brushed glass fragments off his shirt. He watched them sparkle in the sunlight for a few moments. They had a surreal glow to them. It was golden in color, but it looked like more than just sunlight. The strange glow shimmered and then vanished. Weird, he thought, wondering if he had a piece of glass lodged in his brain or something. He ran his hand through his hair but felt nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Scott nodded. “Good. My leg’s killing me.”

Stiles glanced down and noticed a piece of glass sticking through his friend’s jeans. It also had a strange golden shimmer. “Yeah, I can see why. Put the van in park. You’ve got some broken glass there.”

“Where?”

“Just behind your knee.”

Scott parked the vehicle and then felt carefully for the glass. Stiles was right. He pulled it out, wincing as he did so. The glass wasn’t glowing anymore. “That hurts like hell. Look, I’m going to drive us over to my place so we can get patched up. My dad should be home for lunch. He’ll probably be able to give you a ride to work.”

Stiles nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

His head was beginning to throb. Just great, he thought, another migraine. He’d been getting them over the past few days, for no apparent reason other than the stress of dealing with his dad. They were as far away from fun as it could get. Maybe later he’d talk Scott into driving while he urban surfed, just for a little stress relief.

As Scott pulled into the driveway, his dad went outside. Harold’s jaw dropped as he saw the damage to the vehicle. “Scott? Stiles? Are you all right?”

“We’re okay, Dad,” he replied.

Harold ran to help them. “What happened?”

“My dad threw a bottle into the windshield,” Stiles explained. “He was drunk. I’m sorry, Mr. H. If I had any idea he was going to do that…”

“It’s okay, Stiles. It’s not your fault.”

Scott, who had finally had all the pain he could stand, wolfed out. “Great,” he muttered.

“Don’t sweat it,” his father advised. “Let’s go inside.”

Finally, they sat around the kitchen table. Stiles grimaced as his migraine worsened.

“Are you okay?” Harold asked.

“I have a headache the size of the Empire State Building, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Want some aspirin?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Ouch.” The teenager winced as a lightning bolt of pain shot through his head.

As Harold got up from the table, he noticed that the mirror in the hallway shimmered with a faint golden glow. He glanced around, thinking that he’d left a light on somewhere. “That’s odd.”

“What, Dad?”

“The mirror.”

Scott craned his neck and sure enough, he also saw the weird light. “Where is that coming from?”

“Beats me,” Harold replied. Then he noticed the sharp, coppery scent of blood and whirled around. The teenager’s nose had begun to bleed. He was frantically holding it with his hand, futilely trying to stop the flow of blood. “Stiles!”

“Got a Kleenex?” he asked, shouting over the ringing in his ears.

Scott handed him one. Then the mirror in the hallway shattered. “Holy ****,” he exclaimed.

“Scott! Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry, Dad. But you gotta admit, that’s weird.”

Finally, Stiles’ nose stopped bleeding. He looked at his friend. “What just happened? I couldn’t hear a thing. My ears were ringing the whole time.”

“The mirror in the hallway broke. No one touched it. Somebody’s got seven years of bad luck on their hands, but who?”

Harold sniffed the air tentatively. Stiles’ scent had just changed, and there was something that hadn’t been there before, something very different. He gave the teenager a concerned look. “I’d say it’s you.”

He gaped. “No way.”

“Well, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Scott. Telekinesis is not a werewolf ability.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped further. “Tele…what?”

“Telekinesis is the ability to move or affect objects with the mind,” Howard defined.

“Like Carrie from the Stephen King novel,” Scott supplied.

“Great,” Stiles replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “So now I’m a freak. Will someone please shoot me?” he asked, glancing around.

“No one’s going to shoot you, Stiles. But you’ve got to get a grip on this thing,” Harold said.

The teenager slumped in his chair and looked at the table, realizing that he could never go home again. If his dad found out he was a freak, there was no telling what he would do. Suddenly, on the table, a white plate with Harold’s unfinished tuna sandwich began to glow faintly yellow.

Scott noticed it. “Uh, Stiles,” he nervously began.

“What?” he snapped. Then he winced as the plate skittered to the very edge of the table, precariously balanced. Staring at it, he muttered, “Oh, no.”

Harold reached over and caught the plate before it could crash onto the floor. “Maybe you’d better stay here for a few days.”

“Mr. H., you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. If you’re worried about how your father will react, you don’t have to go home right away. Just be sure to call him and tell him where you are.”

“My dad won’t care. He’ll be too drunk. Besides, he technically kicked me out.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said he never wanted to see me again. That means I can’t go home even if I wanted to.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Harold replied.

“Oh, he meant it, all right. And once he finds out I’m a freak, he’ll hate me even more. I could call my mom, but she’s living in California now. She won’t want to come all the way to Iowa. My aunt and uncle might take me in, but I really don’t want to move to Wisconsin. I’d miss everyone here.”

“Scott, what do you think?”

He blinked in surprise and sat up straight. “Hey, I don’t mind. Stiles can even share my room.”

“I was thinking about the guest room, actually.”

He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

Truly moved by their generosity, Stiles couldn’t help but be amazed. What had he done to deserve this? He’d done nothing, and they still wanted to help him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harold grinned. “If you want to use the phone to call your boss…”

“Oh, no, I totally forgot.” He groaned. “I can’t go to work now. What if something happened and everyone saw? What if someone got hurt because of me?”

“You’ll have to learn how to deal with your powers, just like Scott and I had to learn how to use ours.”

“Yeah.” Scott chuckled. “Just be glad you don’t have to worry about getting furry or howling at the full moon.”

“I am, believe me,” he replied. “I’d better call in sick, or my boss will kill me for being this late.”

“The phone’s over there,” Harold said, pointing.

“Right. Thanks.” Stiles picked it up and dialed the auto dealership’s number. The excuse sounded lame even to his ears, but he managed to do a pretty good job of faking it. He ended with a promise to be at work tomorrow if he was feeling better. Feeling somewhat guilty, he looked back at Scott and his dad.

“Are you up for a little one-on-one?” Scott asked. “I won’t use the wolf.”

“Maybe you should. I might actually be able to win.”

“Yeah, right.” But he wondered if his friend was right. There was no telling what Stiles could do now.

* * * * *

To be continued.

[EmilyH]

Shattered Reality

Chapter 2

Disclaimers: One of the X-Men makes an appearance in this chapter. I don't own any recognizable characters from the X-Men. As far as I know, they're owned by Marvel and Stan Lee.

* * * * *

Daisy, the Howards' white terrier, barked as Scott dribbled the basketball. This was an easy shot. He'd done it at least a hundred times before. He tossed the ball and watched it fly towards the hoop attached to the roof. Suddenly, the ball took on a golden shimmer and went veering off to the right. It landed in the bushes. Annoyed, he glared at his friend. "Stiles!"

"Just wanted to see if I could do it," he replied.

Scott went to retrieve the ball, but it rolled out of the bushes with no effort on his part. He glanced back to see his friend grinning. It was hard to stay mad at Stiles, especially when he understood perfectly well how his friend felt. "Let's see how accurate your aim is." He tossed the ball and Stiles caught it.

A friendly female voice startled them both. "Hey, guys, what's up?"

Scott turned around to see Boof standing there. How long had she been there, he wondered? "Uh, just shooting some hoops."

"Hmm. Stiles, don't you have a summer job?"

"Not today," he replied.

"I noticed that something happened to the van. Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah," Scott answered. He saw guilt flicker across Stiles' face for a split second, then it was replaced by his friend's usual nonchalance.

"So what happened?" Boof asked.

"My dad was drunk and threw a bottle at us. The jerk also kicked me out. Life sucks sometimes, but what are you gonna do?" Stiles responded.

"My dad's letting him stay with us," Scott added.

"I see. Well, I'd love to talk, but I'm working at the day care center this afternoon. Sorry to hear about your dad, Stiles."

He shrugged in response. When she left, he turned around so that he faced the house and tossed the ball into the air. It shimmered faintly yellow and then gravitated towards the basket, dropping through the hoop.

"Not bad," Scott said.

Stiles made another shot as his friend leapt into the air to grab the ball. But it levitated higher, just out of reach, and finally made it into the basket. This went on for about a dozen shots until Scott announced, "Okay. No more Mr. nice wolf."

Stiles grinned. He hadn't even broken a sweat yet. "Bring it on."

"You got it." He wolfed out, complete with fur, fangs, claws, and pointy ears.

Dribbling the ball, Stiles glanced at the hoop. This was an easy shot, provided that the werewolf didn't block him. Scott jumped as his friend let go of the ball. It went flying. Scott reached for it, snatching it out of mid-air. The werewolf grinned as he landed.

"This ball is mine," he said.

"Not for long," Stiles replied.

"We'll see about that."

Suddenly, the wrenching sound of a car crash was heard across the street. A woman screamed. Scott dropped the ball and ran to the driveway, morphing back into his normal self. Stiles followed him. A shiny silver corvette had been completely smashed up by a tow truck. The driver of the corvette, a lady with long red hair, was unconscious. She was slumped over the steering wheel with a deep gash in her forehead. Scott was even more amazed to find out who the driver of the tow truck was.

Scott glared at him. "Mick?"

The tall, athletic, dark-haired young man turned from the scene and looked at him with a mixture of hatred, disgust, and anger. "She pulled in front of me. I couldn't stop. Damn it, this is not my fault! I'm tired of you freaks screwing up my life. If your old man hadn't called the shop, this wouldn't have happened. I was the only one who wasn't at lunch, so I had to go."

Mick angrily kicked his own vehicle's tire, imagining it was the werewolf's face. Why couldn't the freaks just go back where they came from and leave him alone? The Howards weren't the first werewolves he'd known. He'd lied about Scott's mother just to hurt him, but another werewolf had been responsible for screwing up his life. Not a member of the Howard clan, though.

When he was 18, Mick had broken into a house during a full moon. Little did he know that the homeowner was a werewolf. He remembered defending himself, but the werewolf was stronger than he'd expected and knocked him out cold. The next thing he knew, he was in a jail cell. He really hated freaks.

Scott glanced at the injured woman and then at his high school nemesis. "Did you try to get her out?"

Mick glared at him, wondering if he was going to play hero. That would be like him. "Yeah, but the door was locked. So was the door on the other side."

"Okay. Stand back."

Scott wolfed out and proceeded to pry the door open. He winced at the sound of screeching metal. That car was never going to be the same again. He changed back to normal so as not to frighten the woman.

Mick stared at him in disbelief. Despite the fact he'd told the werewolf that he wasn't afraid of him, in reality, he was. Mick realized just how close he'd come during the school dance to seriously being hurt. Scott didn't even know his own strength. He could have lifted the car if he'd wanted to. Mick's scratches had healed, but the injury to his pride was still an open wound. To make matters worse, the freak had become even more popular since the basketball championship game. Why did all the geeks and dorks have to get super powers? It just wasn't right.

"Hey," Scott said softly. "Hey, lady, wake up." He gently leaned her against the car seat and shook her. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyelids fluttered open. "What…happened?"

"You had a car accident. But I think you're gonna be okay now. Uh…sorry about the door, but you were in pretty bad shape."

She glanced to her side. Her eyes widened as she saw that the door had effectively been destroyed. "You did that?"

He nodded.

"How?"

"He's a freak," Mick interjected.

"A mutant?" she asked, whispering so only he could hear her.

Scott shook his head. "No, I'm a werewolf."

"So you get furry?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Hey, stay with me here." Scott glanced back. "Someone call 911!"

Stiles ran back into the house.

"Look, lady…"

"Jean," she told him. "My name is Jean."

"Uh, okay. Stay calm. My friend is getting an ambulance."

"No…"

"No?"

She shook her head. "I can't take the chance they'll find out."

"Find what out?"

"I…" she took a deep breath. "That I'm not normal."

Scott stared at her in amazement. "You're a werewolf too?"

"No. Not that. Please don't call the ambulance. Please."

"Okay, don't move. Mick, make sure she doesn't move."

He nodded as Scott brushed past him and ran into the house. Seeing Stiles holding the phone, he exclaimed, "Don't call them!" About to dial the final digit, Stiles hesitated.

"Jean said not to call an ambulance," Scott continued.

"Why not?"

"She doesn't want them to find out something, but what exactly, I don't know."

"Do you think she's a werewolf?"

"I asked her and she said no. Besides, if she was, she'd have wolfed out from the pain."

Stiles nodded. "We could bring her here."

"Okay. Come with me."

They went outside to find the redhead still in the car.

Mick sighed. "What are you going to do now?"

"She said no ambulance, so we're bringing her inside. You wanna help or not?"

"I think I can stand," Jean said.

She took Mick's hand since he was the closest to her and stood on wobbly legs, feeling the blood rush from her head. "Thanks."

"Anything for a lovely lady."

"Uh, Mick, aren't you and Pamela still dating?" Scott asked.

"Not since the basketball game, freak. It's all your fault. If you hadn't won. . ."

"Look, maybe she just wasn't meant for you. Okay?"

"No. It's not okay. Why do you freaks have to mess up my life? First you put me in jail, then you steal my girlfriend, and now this. I'll be lucky if I don't lose my job over this."

Scott protested, "I didn't have anything to do with putting you in jail. That was your own stupid mistake, not mine." But why had Mick lumped him in with that? Unless. . ."Did my father have something to do with that?"

"No. But another of your freakish kind did. Why can't you people leave me alone?"

Inwardly, Jean winced. It was apparent that these two had a history, and even more apparent that Mick knew about Scott. It was a blessing that mutants weren't common knowledge like werewolves seemed to be. Her head buzzed slightly as another telepath brushed across her mind, and clumsily at that.

Stiles blinked in surprise as Mick's anger washed over him, but the feeling wasn't his own. Then came an unexpected sensation, the feeling of another mind touching his. Inadvertently, his jaw dropped.

Jean looked at the stunned teenager standing just behind his arguing friends. Clearly, he was the mutant. As surprised as he was, she doubted he knew about his abilities. He needed training, and soon.

"You're upsetting the lady, Mick," Scott said.

"It's all right," Jean said. "Could I go inside and use your phone? I have a friend who can give me a lift."

"All right."

Noticing that her legs were shaky, Scott offered her his arm. Stiles followed. Mick glowered darkly at them, then picked up his cell phone to call his boss.

* * * * *

To be continued.

[EmilyH]

Shattered Reality

Chapter 3

See chapters 1 & 2 for disclaimers.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, at Howard’s Hardware store, Harold was busy taking care of his customers when a middle-aged blonde woman walked in. She wore jeans and a light blue denim shirt. He looked up as he handed the customer in line a receipt. Then his eyes widened in surprised recognition. She had been a good friend of his in high school. “Betty? Betty Anderson?”

She smiled. “Harold Howard. Long time, no see.”

He walked around the counter and they exchanged a friendly hug.

“This is a nice surprise. What are you doing in town?”

“Visiting my folks. When I saw the store, I couldn’t resist stopping by.”

He grinned. “Well, I’m glad. It’s great to see you. How’s Jim doing?” Jim was Betty’s husband, another high school friend of his. They’d lost touch over the years when the Andersons had moved away to find work. Betty was a nurse, and Jim was a computer operator, both jobs that had little demand in a small Midwestern town. The nearest hospital was in Des Moines, and the bank and the police station were the only companies in town that even had computers.

She looked sad. “He passed away last winter from lung cancer.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“It was probably a blessing. He was so ill for such a long time. How are you and Scott doing?”

“Oh, we’re fine.” Harold braced himself for the inevitable question and wondered how she was going to react when he told her the truth. Nobody was too shocked when he’d admitted that like his son, he was also a werewolf. Oddly enough, the citizens of Beacontown were mostly accepting. But not everyone was. Lately, Harold was getting the cold shoulder lately from a few people whom he’d thought were his friends. Being different wasn’t always easy.

She nodded. “That’s good. Harold, what’s this I hear about your son being a werewolf?”

He took a deep breath and thought, here goes. “It’s true.”

She gasped. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “I wish.”

Betty gazed at him with sparkling blue eyes. There was no fear as he’d expected, just curiosity. “And you’re…”

Harold nodded. “I’m a werewolf too, Betty -- have been since I was 16.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Mary knew. Thorn found out one night, but he never told anyone. Nobody would have believed him back then, and I certainly wasn’t going to give him proof.”

Suddenly the phone rang. “Howard’s Hardware, how can I help you?”

“Dad, there’s a lady here. Mick ran into her car in front of the house. He was driving the tow truck. He’s fine. She’s hurt, but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Her car is totaled, though,” Scott explained.

“Okay. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. There’s an ice pack in the freezer if she needs it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Harold glanced around and saw one of his employees stocking a shelf, a middle-aged man with gray hair and glasses, wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“As soon as you’re finished with that, I need you to cover the cash register for me. Something came up.”

Ben put the last box on the shelf and turned around. “Sure thing.” He grinned at the woman. “Well, hello there. Anything I can help you with, Ma’am?”

She smiled. “I was just stopping in to say hello. Harold, I’ll be in town all week if you want to catch up.” She scribbled a phone number on the back of a receipt someone had left on the counter, and gave it to him.

“I’d love to.” He pocketed the paper and left the store, hoping that the emergency at home wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

* * * * *

At the Howard house, Jean felt lightheaded as she walked unsteadily. She grabbed onto a nearby chair for support when her knees buckled.

“Maybe you should rest on the couch for a while,” Scott suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Will you help me?”

“Sure.”

Stiles, who had just sat down on the couch, stood up and offered a hand. Jean smiled as she took it. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, memories of an abusive and drunken father flooded her mind, followed by feelings of pain and humiliation. Neither the memories nor emotions were her own. A more recent memory came to the surface. This time, it was complete and utter shock at seeing Scott turn into a werewolf for the first time.

And something else was there, too -- jealousy. Why couldn’t she get super powers? At least she could find a way to use them to make money and pay the bills on time for once, and maybe buy some real food. That is, if she could keep her dad from finding out and spending the money on booze. But then Jean realized those weren’t her memories. They were the dark-haired boy’s. He stared at her, looking absolutely stunned.

Confused, Scott looked at both of them. “What? Stiles, what is it?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” he admitted finally. “Do you remember how you felt when you turned into the wolf for the first time?”

“I was totally freaked out. I had no idea what was happening to me.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. “Yeah, that’s about how I feel.”

“The only reason you feel that way is because you don’t know what you are,” Jean told him.

“Okay, lady. You seem to know an awful lot more than I do. What am I?”

“A mutant,” she replied.

If her face hadn’t been completely straight, and if he hadn’t seen the mirror break or the plate nearly levitate off the table earlier, Stiles wouldn’t have believed her. But something was happening to him that he couldn’t explain, and he wanted answers. “What do you mean?”

Suddenly the front door opened. It was Mick, Harold, and Mick’s boss. They were all arguing. Scott rolled his eyes and Stiles sighed.

“Look, I’m telling you, she pulled out in front of me. It was not my fault,” Mick protested.

“You should have been watching more closely,” Mick’s boss replied. “And how the hell did you do that to the car door?”

“That wasn’t me. I told you, Scott decided to play hero.”

“Yeah, right. He might be good at basketball now, but he’s not Superman.”

“I’m telling you, he ripped the door off to get her out. I saw him do it! It’s possible. Why don’t you tell him, Mr. Howard? Or are you afraid everyone will think you’re a freak, just like your son?” Mick sneered, waiting for his reaction.

“That was uncalled for,” Harold replied, obviously trying to keep his temper in check. “Besides, why do you have such a problem with me?”

“Mick, one more remark like that and you’re fired,” Mick’s boss added. The name tag he wore read Sam. “I’m going to have a hard enough time keeping you with this accident on your record. My manager is going to be breathing down my neck. I’m sorry, Harold. He’s never been this rude to any of our customers before.”

“You mean, you never noticed he was a bigot until now?” Scott walked into the room with his arms crossed and leaned against the wall.

“Scott,” his father protested. “You’re not making things any easier.”

“No, your son’s right, Mr. Howard. I will freely admit that I have no tolerance for freaks,” Mick answered with a smirk. “If that makes me a bigot, then I guess I am.”

Harold’s jaw dropped.

Sam glared at his employee, wondering why he hadn’t seen the young man’s impertinence earlier. “That does it. You’re fired. Give me your keys.”

“Fine.” Mick tossed him the keys to the tow truck and the office. “I don’t care. I’ll find another way to get money. I don’t need this job.”

“You snot-nosed punk. I hope you learn respect one day,” Harold said.

Scott looked at him. “Fat chance of that happening, Dad. After all, you need a brain to learn things, and Mick doesn’t have one.”

In the living room, Stiles laughed, having overheard. As Mick stomped outside, Sam shook his head in disbelief. “I . . . I’m sorry, Harold. He had no right to be so rude. God, how could I have been so stupid to hire him in the first place? The only reason I did was because of Jeff and Maggie, you know. I went to high school with them. I can’t believe their son turned out to be such a jerk.”

He nodded. He’d known Mick’s parents, too. They were good people. “It’s not your fault, Sam. I can’t help being what I am, and neither can Scott.”

“I know. But you shouldn’t have to take that ****. Kids just don’t know how good they have it nowadays. Uh, no offense, Scott.”

He shrugged. “None taken.”

Harold looked at his son. “Scott, how’s our guest doing?”

“She’s resting on the couch.”

So they went into the living room. Harold could see that Jean, the pretty young redhead, was in her 20’s. There was a large gash on her forehead, but it had stopped bleeding. She had a few bruises on her arms as well. “I’m Harold Howard, Scott’s father. How are you feeling? Do you want to see a doctor?”

She smiled. “I am a doctor, actually. I can tell I’ve got a few bumps and bruises, but they’ll heal.”

“That’s good. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I was driving and suddenly, a tow truck run a stop sign at a cross street. Then I tried to swerve out of his way, but obviously, he hit me. The next thing I knew, your son and his friend were trying to wake me up. I still can’t believe what happened to the car door. Your son is very heroic, Mr. Howard.”

Scott turned red. “It was nothing.”

“I’m glad you’re all right, Dr. . .” Harold started.

“Grey. Jean Grey. And you can call me Jean.” She looked at Sam. “Your employee was very careless, not to mention rude.”

“He’s not my employee anymore, Dr. Grey. I’m very sorry about what happened. We will, of course, pick up all of the expenses.”

“What about the car door?” Scott asked.

“The insurance company will have to decide, but if it was up to me, they’d pay for it. Don’t worry about it, Scott. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She reached into her pocket for her wallet. “Here. Can I have paper and something to write with?”

“Sure,” Harold said. “Scott, why don’t you get it?”

After that was taken care of, Sam left with an apology and even towed both Jean’s corvette and the van away for free. Mick would have to pay for his service.

Jean looked at Stiles. “Now then, I believe you still have some questions.”

“Yeah. What’s a mutant?”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “Like in science fiction?”

“Mutants are very real, Mr. Howard,” Jean answered. “Just like werewolves.”

“Okay. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. “But mutants? I suppose next you’ll tell me UFOs are real, too.”

“And vampires,” Scott added.

She chuckled. “I can see you find this hard to believe. Very well. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Concentrating, Jean made the remote control levitate two inches off the table. Scott looked at his friend.

“Hey, I’m not doing it,” Stiles answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Look. It’s not glowing.”

The remote gently landed on the table. “You’re telekinetic as well?” Jean asked Stiles.

“Um . . . yeah. I think so. Except I can make stuff glow in the dark. Watch.” He did his best to focus on the remote. When it hovered this time, it had a yellowish glow.

“How long have you had these abilities?”

“I just got them today.”

“You’re a quick learner. I’d like to give you my card. I teach at a private school in New York. It’s for those who are gifted. We have regular classes, as well as training in mutant abilities. I hope you’ll consider.”

He glanced at the business card. A private school? And how was he supposed to afford that? Maybe if he won the lottery.

“We have scholarships as well,” Jean replied.

Did she just read my mind, he wondered? “Thanks, but next year is my senior year of high school, and I’d like to stay here. Besides, I’d miss my friends.”

She nodded. “I understand. If you change my mind, feel free to call me. Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“I realize you aren’t a mutant, but you’re also gifted. If you’d like to come to New York, there would be a place for you, as well as Stiles.”

Scott thought about it. “What about Lewis and Boof? They’re perfectly normal. Would there be a place for them, too?” From Jean’s expression, he could tell the answer was probably not. “Sorry, but my friends are here.”

“All right. If you change your mind, call me. Speaking of calling, Mr. Howard, would it be all right to use your telephone? I’ll reimburse you for the call, of course. I have someone waiting to meet me in Des Moines. Maybe he can make the drive tonight.”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it. The phone’s in the kitchen.”

Jean stood up. Her knees were a lot less shaky now. She smiled, then went to the phone. “Hello, Scott. Yes, it’s me. You’re never going to believe where I am. Beacontown, Iowa. Some guy ran into my car with a tow truck and totaled it. I need a ride. Yes, I’m fine. You’ll never believe who I met, either.” She gave him the Howards’ address. “When can you be here? Uh huh. Great. I can’t wait to see you. I love you, too. Bye.”

Then she went back into the living room. “My friend will be here in a couple of hours.”

“Great. That means you can stay for dinner.” Harold grinned.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose on you any further.”

“Nonsense. It’s no hassle.”

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Mick was speeding along the highway with burning thoughts of anger and hatred. The song “Highway to Hell” was blaring on his car stereo as loud as it would go. One way or another, he was going to have his revenge. Suddenly an out-of-control tanker truck came barreling along. He yelled as his vehicle collided with it. Not wearing his seatbelt, he went flying through the window.

Burning flames shot into the sky as a chemical stew spilled out of the truck. In the end, the chemicals saved him. As he lay unconscious, that strange brew came in contact with his skin. Some of it splashed into his mouth. He woke feeling as though his blood boiled. Flames shot out of his fingers. Angrily, Mick blasted the truck. The flames added to the growing blaze. “I swear, those werewolf freaks will pay for doing this to me,” he shouted. With that, he stalked off towards town.

* * * * *

To be continued.

[EmilyH]

Shattered Reality

Chapter 4

See chapters 1 & 2 for disclaimers.

* * * * *

Harold made dinner while Stiles, Jean, and Scott chatted in the living room.

“You know,” Stiles told Jean, “you haven’t really answered my question. What exactly is a mutant?”

She looked at him from the other end of the couch. “A mutant is someone with different DNA from that of normal humans. We have what is called an X-factor. This slight genetic mutation is what gives us our powers. A lot of powers are similar but have variations. For example, when you focus on something, you seem to infuse it with energy, which might account for the glow. I don’t know why that is.”

“But I’m not a mutant,” Scott said.

“Probably not,” she conceded. “However, your condition is most likely genetic, just like mutant DNA can be passed from parents to their offspring.”

“My dad once said that his great-great-grandfather was the first werewolf in our family. We don’t really know how it happened. All we know is that grandpa was a werewolf, and that dad and I are. My dad’s brother isn’t one, and my cousin doesn’t know if he is yet. He’s a couple of years younger than me.”

Jean nodded. “It only affects the men in your family?”

“So far.”

Professor Xavier would love to study this phenomenon, she thought wistfully.

“Who’s Professor Xavier?” Stiles asked, hearing Jean’s thought echo through his mind.

She responded, “A very dear friend of mine. He runs the private school I was telling you about earlier. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be lost now. You’re a telepath too, I see.”

Scott looked amazed. “Stiles, what number am I thinking of?” he asked.

“Boof’s phone number, of course.”

He laughed. “You know me too well, but you’re right on.”

As they continued talking, they had no idea what awaited them.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Mick was on a rampage. Howard’s Hardware was locked up for the evening, but the target was just too tempting to pass up. He raised his arms and let loose with a fireball. A few pedestrians saw him and stared as the blazing ball of flames hit the storefront, shattering the window and igniting an inferno. The security alarm went off.

He snickered, then turned to the shocked people on the street. “What the hell are you morons staring at?” he demanded.

They all scattered as Mick sprayed a jet of flames in their general direction, setting a few cars parked nearby on fire. He heard a siren wail in the distance and took off running. There was no way he was going to let himself get caught. Besides, he needed to get his revenge. But first, there was someone he wanted to see, who would no doubt be impressed by his new abilities.

* * * * *

Pamela Wells was listening to the radio in her room when her mother opened her door and told her “that boy” was here to see her, and that she had better not go out with him. He looked crazy. Pamela knew “that boy” had to be Mick. Her mother hated him and thought that Scott Howard was a better catch, whether or not he was a werewolf. At least he came from a decent, hardworking family and had a future. Well, she was 18 and old enough to make her own decisions now. She turned off the radio and went downstairs, intending to accept the offer for a date that he was probably there to make.

When she went to the door, Mick sneered, “Hey, Pamela. You’ll never believe what happened to me today. And it’s all that freak’s fault.”

“Scott?” That was crazy . . . how could he have done this? Even if it were possible, which she doubted, Mick had probably provoked him into it. Her ex-boyfriend was such an idiot.

“You got that right.” His sneer grew wider. “You should’ve seen what I did to his old man’s store just now.”

“What did you do?”

“I set it on fire.” He held up his right hand. As flames sprouted from his fingers, Mick’s eyes glowed like liquid fire.

Pamela gasped. “What’s happening to you?”

“I don’t know, babe, but it’s the best thing that ever did.” He stopped sneering. “I’ve got super powers now, and I want revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“On the Howards. God, you’re even dumber than Scott. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. Come with me. You can watch those freaks meet their doom.” He laughed. It was not a cheerful laugh.

“Buzz off,” she muttered, angry that he had insulted her intelligence, and even angrier that he thought she wanted to see something bad happen to good people. Scott might be a dork, but he didn’t deserve Mick’s wrath.

Suddenly he grabbed her arm. Pamela yelped as his fingers scalded her skin. His hand was literally red hot and her skin was burning. “Nobody says no to me now, least of all you. Come on.”

“Mom,” Pamela wailed as her mother watched in horror. “Help!”

Mick clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up, you little ****,” he warned her. “If you scream one more time, I’m going to make sure you get warm and toasty.” He held his hand out and flames appeared on his fingertips. As they did, the glow in his eyes intensified. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

Oh God, she thought worriedly. If Mick could do that, did Scott even stand a chance?

* * * * *

[EmilyH]

Shattered Reality

Chapter 5

See chapters 1 & 2 for disclaimers.

* * * * *

Howard’s Hardware was closed for the evening, but the target was just too tempting to pass up. Mick’s eyes blazed while he hurled a fireball at the building. The burglar alarm went off as the windows shattered. He laughed. Revenge had never felt so good.

Pamela stared in horror. What if someone had been inside? She didn’t think Mick cared at the moment. He could be nice. She’d known that. She also knew he had a temper, but until they’d broken up, he’d never been mean to her. That he could turn into such a monster shocked her.

Ironically, even as a werewolf, Scott Howard was still a nice guy. True, he was a dork, but he didn’t act even remotely like a monster. What had caused her ex-boyfriend’s sudden change? And how had he gotten super powers? Mick obviously wasn’t a werewolf, or he’d be furry now, so what on earth was he?

“Let me go,” she screamed when Mick grabbed her arm. His hand was still hot. Pamela stomped on his foot, and she was wearing platform shoes, so that had to hurt unless Mick was invulnerable now. He grunted in pain and loosened his grip on her arm. She took the opportunity to pull free and run.

Suddenly, the air behind her felt extremely hot. Instinctively, Pamela dove for cover, just as a fireball whooshed past. Now she knew that she was definitely in trouble. If Mick was willing to kill, there was no telling what he’d do. The fireball hit a nearby tree and the grass nearby burst into flames. She rolled over to avoid them, scrambled to her feet, and then ran for her life as Mick hurled another fireball.

“Hey,” he shouted. “Get back here!”

Not a chance, Pamela thought as she ran. The next fireball hit a parked car, which resulted in an explosion as the fire hit the gas tank. She heard Mick yelling obscenities, but ignored him. There was only one place she could go to for help now.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, at the Howard home, everyone was surprised when the doorbell rang.

“That can’t be Scott,” Jean mused aloud. “It’s nearly a four hour drive from Des Moines.”

“I’ll see who it is,” Scott Howard replied. He opened the door and was surprised to see Pamela Wells there. His jaw dropped. “Pamela?” Noticing she was out of breath, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“No! Mick’s totally nuts. This is going to sound whacked, but he is really, really ****ed off and he can throw fireballs. I saw flames coming out of his fingers. His eyes were glowing like fire or something. I swear, I’m not making this up. He’s on his way here. I barely got away from him.”

Jean got up from the table. What were the chances of two mutant teenagers cropping up in the exact same small Midwestern town? “It’s all right,” she said. “You’re safe now, Miss. Wells.”

“Pamela. Please. You sound like one of my teachers.” She rolled her eyes, but then stopped. “Wait a sec, how did you know my name?”

The redhead was silent as she tried to think of an excuse.

The girl’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you read my mind or something? Do you have super powers like Mick? What’s going on here and who are you, anyway?”

“This is Dr. Jean Grey,” Scott said. “Mick hit her car with a tow truck right in front of the house earlier.”

“That figures. You’re a doctor, huh?” Pamela inquired.

Jean nodded. “That’s right. I notice you have a burn on your arm.”

“Yeah. That’s from Mick. His hand was so hot that he burned me.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Harold, do you have any first-aid cream or salve?”

“In the medicine cabinet. I’ll get it,” he answered, and got up from the table.

Just then, the sound of fire engine sirens wailing could be heard. Pamela sighed. “Mr. Howard, you should know, they’re probably going to your store. Mick set it on fire.”

He looked stunned. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s out of control. Someone has to stop him.”

Harold nodded. “The police will handle it.”

She gaped at him. “What can they do? If Mick can just burn anything he wants to, who’s gonna stop him?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, unless Dr. Grey here knows something I don’t. I’ll get your first-aid cream.” With that, he walked down the hallway.

Pamela and Scott exchanged glances. “I can’t believe your dad doesn’t want to do anything about Mick.”

Scott shrugged. “We’re werewolves, not superheroes, Pamela. There’s a difference. We can get hurt just as easily as anyone else. The only difference is that we have fur and claws sometimes.”

“But you’re stronger than him,” she persisted. “You’re the only ones in this town who stand any chance against him at all.”

“Pamela . . .” Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. Scott sighed. “I’ll get it.”

There stood Mick. His eyes, currently dark brown, flashed angrily. “You are going to get it, Howard, and there’s nothing you or your old man can do to stop me.”

In the space of a heartbeat, Scott transformed into the werewolf. Jean gasped in surprise. She’d seen mutant shape shifters before, of course, but this was still pretty amazing, especially given the fact that Scott technically wasn’t a mutant.

“Wanna bet?” the werewolf growled.

“Try me,” Mick suggested.

* * * * *

To be continued.